Real Magic (26 page)

When Duncan reached the bottom, he coughed hard and wondered how far back in time radon began contaminating basements. Dust caked the air thick enough to see. The basement housed all the items not on display — hundreds of items. Old posters and older costumes, moldy boxes of cards and torn photographs, warped ledgers and stained receipts bearing the names of every city, town, and village Wilkinson had traveled through. In the back, covered in dust and surrounded by faded crystal balls and fortune telling boxes, the Door of Vanishing lay flat across two card tables. And in two pieces.

A diagonal slice cut from right to left starting near the highest hinge and ending right under the doorknob. It was a rough cut as if made by a dull saw and jagged with fury, going off the intended path several times. Duncan ran his fingers across the rough cut, and he nearly burst into tears.

Seeing the door, feeling the wood, looking at the writing scrawled across the finish — it transported him back to Pappy's apartment. He saw Pappy's door leaning against the wall and heard the old man warning him to never, under any circumstances, mess with that door. He smelled the stale air of a man so old that his demise hung over him like a shadow in reverse. Pappy knew. Maybe not every detail, but he had to have known about Verido and the Door of Vanishing trick. He had to have known that anybody who went through disappeared.

"He knew," Duncan whispered. Until that moment, part of him deep inside where he never looked had lived in denial. Living in 1934 was real on the surface, yet in his core, he ignored reality. He lived the last few days like a movie or a dream, but standing in this basement, hearing his words die in the thick air, the last part of him clinging to some false fantasy loosened and fell.

"I've tried to figure that thing out for years," Wilkinson said. "Never got anywhere with it. When Rosini sawed it in two, I think he must have removed some secret mechanism is all I can figure."

Lucy stroked Duncan's back. "May we take a closer look at for a while?"

"Be my guest. I'll be upstairs — got to reset the orange tree. If you need anything, give a holler. And if you figure it out, please let an old man in on the secret. I'd love to go to my grave with that little chestnut in my brain."

After Wilkinson clumped up the stairs, Lucy turned to Duncan. "You okay?'

Duncan's eyes burned. "It's strange. I didn't think it would hit me like this, seeing the door."

"Anything I can do?"

Duncan stepped in close and kissed her. "Stay with me."

"I'm right here with you." She pulled a pencil from her purse. "How about I sketch this door so we have something to refer to later?"

"Excellent idea," he said, but he sounded dismayed.

Lucy flipped one of the old posters over and began drawing a detail of the door. Meanwhile, Duncan brought his face close to the wood, inspecting every inch of it. He paid particular attention to the sawn area, looking for any sign of a hidden compartment or the markings of where a mechanism had once been.

From Wilkinson's story, Duncan surmised that The Amazing Verido, aka Dominic Rosini, had built several fake doors perhaps as decoys to thwart prying eyes. Such a secretive magician would undoubtedly go to great lengths to protect his trade. In fact, the door Duncan looked at may never have been anything but a decoy — the sawing in half an effective misdirection designed to force those who kept the door into wasting countless hours trying to figure out a trick that didn't exist.

But Duncan, of course, did not seek a solution to a magic trick. He wanted to know how to use the door — the real door. And while the door in Wilkinson's basement would never get Duncan to 2013, let alone the other side of the room, it did prove they were heading in the right direction.

"We've got a name now," Duncan said.

"And this door." Lucy showed off her quick sketch — wonderful.

"We're getting closer."

Banging came from above. Somebody pounding the frame of the screen door. Wilkinson mumbled something along the lines of
Be patient
which followed rapidly by a deep, harsh voice — a voice Duncan knew too well after only a few days. Nelson Walter.

 

Duncan put a finger to his lips,
and Lucy stayed quiet. He moved cautiously to the bottom of the stairs in order to hear better, but all the voices came through muffled. Though the thumping of his pulse filled his ears, he picked out Wilkinson's tone and had identified Nelson Walter which left one other heavy voice. It had to be Freddie.

The deep voices raised and Wilkinson's grew meek. Duncan scanned the basement for anything that might spark an idea of how to help, but nothing came to mind. Besides, he couldn't dare reveal his presence. If he did, Walter would check out the basement, find the door, and be done with Duncan in a dead and buried out back sort of way. If he were lucky, Lucy would be collateral damage, scarred physically and mentally forever. If unlucky, Lucy would share a shallow grave with him.

Cold silence stilled the air. Then glass shattered, and Duncan heard the distinct sound of an old man being punched in the gut. Lucy's eyes widened as the punches continued. With each blow, Walter's voice asked the same question in one word, spoken loud enough to be heard clearly even in the basement.

"Verido?"

Punch.

"Verido?"

Punch.

"Verido?"

Lucy brought her mouth close to Duncan's ear. "What are we going to do?"

Feeling every bit the coward, he shook his head. "That's Nelson Walter up there. If we go up, we'll be killed."

"Over an old magician?"

"Walter believes this door is real magic just like me."

Lucy's eyes drifted to the door when Wilkinson finally cried out for mercy. He spoke for a moment, soft and unclear. But it was clear enough to satisfy Walter.

A final punch sent Wilkinson crashing through furniture. Two sets of footsteps strolled out of the house. Wilkinson did not stir.

"I think they killed him," Lucy said, making to go upstairs.

Duncan put a hand on her arm. "Wait."

"But that old man —"

"Wait." Duncan listened close for another minute, all the time gripping Lucy's arm. Finally, he heard Walter's car turn over and, a moment later, the sound of gravel under wheels. "Now, they're gone." He set her free.

They flew up the stairs and into the showroom. Wilkinson lay in the corner amongst toppled books and magazines. Bruises mottled his face and blood streamed from a gash in his forehead.

"Get some towels or something for that wound," Duncan said, and Lucy rushed to the kitchen.

"D-Don't worry," Wilkinson struggled to say. "I —"

"Shh." Lucy pressed a white towel against Wilkinson's head.

"You what?" Duncan asked.

Lucy scowled. "He's been beaten to a pulp. Let him be."

"Sorry. Would you get him some water, please?" Duncan took over on the towel and waited until Lucy left the room. Then he spun back on Wilkinson. "What were you trying to say?"

"V-Verido."

Duncan heard Lucy opening and closing cupboard doors. "What about him?"

"Like you, they wanted his real name, and ..."

Duncan heard water filling in a glass. "And what? What did you say to them?"

Wilkinson's head drooped back.

For the longest second of his life, Duncan was sure the old man had died. He thought he smelled Death. But then he saw the old man's chest rise, and he heard a gurgling in the old man's throat. Lucy returned with the water, and as she leaned the glass to Wilkinson's mouth, Duncan noticed blood near his waist.

"I think he's broken some ribs," Duncan said.

"We need to call the police. We need help."

"Absolutely not. The kind of guy Walter is, he probably owns half the police in Pennsylvania."

"Then we'll have to hope for the other half to answer our call."

"You don't understand. We cannot have the police involved. You'll be in too much danger."

"Me? Why would the police be after me?" She took one look at Duncan and her jaw set in anger. "This is another damn secret, isn't it? Tell me why the police will be after me."

Duncan paced the room, wrapping his arms around his head as if this could hold back his words. "Not the police. Walter. He threatened to harm you. To make me do what he wanted, he threatened your life. He'll do it, too. You'll end up worse than this guy."

Wilkinson coughed and blood spurted out his mouth.

"That doesn't make sense. Walter doesn't even know me."

"He knows everyone and everything in Reedsburg. He's had his eye on you and Vincent for a long time. He wants the Door, and you two were the only ones pursuing magic deeply enough to find it."

Lucy frowned. "Until you came along."

"I swear I didn't know what he was really after. When he hired me to join the magic club, I thought he wanted to swipe a few of Vincent's card tricks, maybe write a book of his own. I never knew —"

"You've been working for him?"

"He forced me. He would've killed me, if I didn't help."

"You see what happens with all these secrets? You see?"

"I'm sorry."

"No more. This is over."

"Lucy, don't say that."

She stood, her face red with fury even as her eyes welled up. "I could have taken a lot from you. I have already. I even was willing to follow you down this crazy path. But it seems we keep coming back to this same part of you. These secrets upon secrets."

"Please, let me —"

"I don't care. You go do whatever your secrets require you to do. I won't go any further. I won't go to the police, so don't worry. But you help me get this man into the car. He's going to die if we don't get him to a hospital, at least."

Duncan tried to speak to her as he assisted Wilkinson to the car, but Lucy refused to engage him. Her stern face cut apart all of his pleading. He rested Wilkinson across the back seat, and then opened the passenger side door.

"I forgot my purse," Lucy said. "It's in the kitchen."

Duncan jogged into the house and made his way back to the kitchen. The counter was bare. "Lucy, wait!" he called out, but she had already driven away.

 

Duncan stared at the empty driveway
like a dog waiting for his owner to return. She had to come back. She wouldn't just leave him.

Except that he hurt her. Time and again, he built up her trust and then smashed it apart with his secrets.

Except he couldn't tell her the truth. He had tried to give her as much as made any semblance of sense. More than that and she would doubt his sanity beyond the playful way she had already questioned him.

Except all his holding back had resulted in him standing alone in Gettysburg.

Duncan rubbed the back of his neck. He looked at the gravel pebbles, and a swift kick sent a smattering of them across the grass. His heart felt like those little rocks strewn out by Lucy's kick.

He lost track of time. Ten, maybe fifteen minutes passed by and he remained standing on the gravel drive. Slowly, his brain poked through the thick gauze of heartache that dulled him.

He remembered that he came from 2013 and had fallen into 1934 because of one thing — the Door. He remembered what had tangled him in these relationships in an effort to find his way home — the Door. He remembered why he had pursued Verido all the way to Gettysburg — the Door.

Lucy had been a mistake. No matter what he felt for her, and he suspected he would continue to feel a great deal for a long time, they were worse than star-crossed lovers. They were time-crossed lovers. The longer he spent indulging his desires for her, the more damage he created for the world and for her. Already he had done so much to alter Time that perhaps he wouldn't want to see what the world was like in the future. Perhaps he had destroyed everything worthwhile about going home.

"Doesn't matter," he muttered. Nothing had changed regarding Nelson Walter. Lucy or no Lucy, Duncan still had to protect her. Love was like that.

Duncan gazed down the still road. "Goodbye, Lucy."

Walking back into the house with a firm, steady stride, Duncan headed straight for the phone sitting on a small table underneath the stairs. He had one piece of information, and he had to make use of it before Walter did the same.

With the receiver held to his ear with one hand, and the mouthpiece held with the other, Duncan tapped for the operator.

"How may I help you?" a voice said on the other end of the line.

"I'm trying to contact Dominic Rosini."

"Is this a local call?"

"I think so. I don't really know."

"One moment please."

While he waited, Duncan wished once more for a computer. In the short time he waited, he could have easily googled Rosini, found several addresses and phone numbers scattered across the country, located numerous photos of Verido related materials, seen an aerial view and a street view of each address, and been on his way to hunting down the correct home. Instead, he paced the worn carpet and ignored the bloody glass in the corner.